


Proof of Heaven, As you're Living, Pretty (wo)Men!

by orphan_account



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: AU: Pretty Woman, Content warnings:, Hartwin, I mean, M/M, Minor Character Death, Overdose, Pretty Woman AU, Prostitution, Underage Prostitution, and paid her in drugs, because dean didn't marry eggsy's mum, but in this one, he got her hooked to drugs then prostituted her out, he's mostly willing, i have made myself sad, if only dean would leave her alone, just read the damn thing, nothing graphic tho, oh god this is a spin off from my first hartwin fic, rentboy, so eggsy said he would trade places with his mum, sort of, tw: overdose, where it's implied eggsy was an unwilling rentboy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 03:50:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3635523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eggsy is a rent boy who makes absolutely no money. His mum is a barely recovering dope fiend who can't get away from her abusive ex. His da is dead, his little sis is five seconds away from being sent to the system, and then some posh bloke comes waltzing into his dingy corner of the world and offers him a way out.</p><p>Eggsy knows there's always a price to pay. He just might not mind this one. It'd be a nice change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. And when you take, you take the very best of me

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Triple the Order of Champagne (And Spill More)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3616371) by [KeepCalmLoveSeverus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeepCalmLoveSeverus/pseuds/KeepCalmLoveSeverus). 



> Work title taken from the song "Pretty Women" in Sweeney Todd.
> 
> Chapter title taken from the song "Cold as You" by Taylor Swift.

When Eggsy dropped out of school at the age of sixteen to join the British Army, he thought he would be making big bucks to send home to his mum. He did not predict that she would go off the deep end, sell her body to her ex, Dean, in exchange for dope, and have a mental breakdown that required him to break his enlistment. He did not predict coming home to find out that Dean would be more than willing to take a younger, more male, piece of arse in exchange for his mother's sobriety.

But that was how it had gone. For four, almost five, years, Eggsy had basically sold his soul to the devil. He had been where Dean told him to be, when Dean told him to be there. Usually the locales were dingy, dark street corners, or run-down motels (if the client was a bit more adventurous than a mouth around his cock or a reach around in the dark); that was the first thing that tipped Eggsy off to the fact that tonight was going to be different.

First of all, all the lights on the sign were glowing; second, the keycard was electronic, and worked the first time he swiped it. And, most damning piece of evidence that Eggsy was about to be in for a world of hurt: there was actually a television in the room, not just a less-faded patch of paint where one ought to have sat. And there was no scent of mildew.

Dean hadn't mentioned anything out of the ordinary about tonight's client -- then again, Dean probably thought it would be a funny joke, sending Eggsy to be completely worked over by some creepy middle aged banker who had more money than sense and liked to make young boys cry. (Eggsy was pretty good about spotting those ones off the bat and crying far sooner than he actually would have. It saved him several days of trying to recover without tweaking his mum's radar -- since she didn't know he did this to keep her safe.)

Nervous but resigned, Eggsy retreated to the bathroom, hoping to stretch himself out a bit more before the john got here. These older ones liked to be fucking rough. He wasn't quick enough, however, and when he stuck his head out of the bathroom door five minutes later, a man wearing a _very_ expensive suit was sitting on the edge of the bed, legs crossed casually, staring at the bathroom door as though the power of his gaze alone would compel Eggsy to come out.

Well. Maybe it had.

There was nothing for it, though. Biting the inside of his cheek, Eggsy went down on his bare knees in front of the man, hands reaching out for the placket on his suit trousers. He was used to being naked in front of Dean's clients, but with this posh man, the difference in their dress was so much so that he felt uncomfortable. Even if he'd been wearing clothes, it wouldn't have been anything near as nice as what this man wore.

"What," came the dry, cultured voice, "You aren't going to kiss me first? No foreplay at all?"

Confused, Eggsy stopped. "Sorry, guv, usually -- Well," he stuttered, feeling himself flush crimson in a way he hadn't even known was still possible for him as he dropped his eyes in what seemed close to shame. Apparently, he hadn't lost all his self-respect. What a damnably inconvenient time for it to pop round for tea. What was someone this well off doing lowering himself with someone like him? "Wotever you want," he finally settled on saying. "I'm sure Dean made you the usual deal. That makes this your show." So long as the bloke didn't leave any bruises in visible places or put "the merchandise" in the emergency room, he was free to do whatever he wanted to Eggsy.

Since Eggsy's head was down, he didn't see the posh bloke narrow his eyes in speculation; he did, however, see the hand in his peripheral vision move, and he was so on edge that he had reached out and gripped the wrist in a tight clamp before he could rethink the instinct. As soon as he realized what he'd done, Eggsy gasped and let go like he'd been scalded, ducking his shoulders up as though he expected to be cuffed around the ear. Speechless, he stared up into the suit's eyes.

The gentleman smirked slightly in response to Eggsy's expression, though his eyes were hard in a way Eggsy couldn't have named if he had tried. "Easy now. I may like it rough, but all I wanted was a glance at your necklace." Mentally cursing himself for forgetting to remove the chain of his da's medal from his neck, Eggsy sat still as the man reached forward again, slower this time.

"As I thought," the man stated crisply as he inspected the medal. He didn't say anything else, though, just stared between Eggsy and the necklace.

Finally, Eggsy broke, and asked, "Wot? Wot is it?"

Smiling gently, the man let go of the chain, leaned back, and unbuttoned the jacket of his suit before leaning forward again, as though confiding a great secret in Eggsy. "My name is Harry Hart, and I gave that medal to you seventeen years ago to keep safe. I rather thought you would have called by now."


	2. The story starts when it was hot and it was summer and...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry explains why he tracked Eggsy down. Other things happen. ;) (NOT what you're thinking!)

Eggsy stared at the posh man looming over him, head blank. "Wot?" he demanded weakly. That didn't make any sense -- for one thing, his mum had never told him where the medal had come from, just that it had been his da's. And for another, why had the bastard waited until now to come help him, if he'd been waiting for a call for a while?  _And another thing!_ Eggsy hadn't called him.

Head spinning, Eggsy almost didn't hear Harry's reply. "Your father saved my life, and seventeen years ago I gave your mother that token of a debt owed. I've been following your progress for quite a while, waiting for the right moment to approach you -- unfortunately, a situation arose which required my attention while you were in the Army, and by the time I returned, you had left the Army and practically fallen off the face of the earth. Would you care to explain the situation to me?"

At that condescending question, Eggsy snapped back into himself. "Fuck you, gov. Fuck you all over." Standing up, Eggsy retreated to the bathroom and dragged his clothes on as fast as he could. "I don't 'ave to explain meself to you, especially seeing as you've not been round for the last 'owever many bloody years. You're not me da, and I don't answer to you. So if you're not a payin' customer, you can leave. Don't let the door hit ya in the arse." Shrugging into his overlarge jacket (it used to fit snugly, his mind whispered, back when he was getting regular meals), Eggsy snapped, "Well, wot ya still doin' 'ere?"

The expression on the man's face stopped him in his tracks. He didn't look angry at all -- in fact, he looked almost sad. Tone matched expression when Harry spoke. "I did try to extend a helping hand, Eggsy. Several times. Your mother, I assume, elected not to tell you of that."

Eggsy sneered out of pure reflex. "Me mum don't keep secrets from me."  _You don' know that,_ his mind treacherously second-guessed him.  _She didn't tell ya when she went back to Dean._ "She just don't." Doubts or not, Eggsy would defend his mum to the death.  _Loyal as a dog, and stupid as one too,_ sneered his thoughts, sounding an awful lot like Dean. "She don't," he muttered again, less conviction in his voice. He bit his lower lip as he remembered all the times she had lied about shooting up or snorting, and hitched his shoulders up higher around his ears, glaring at the posh man out of the corner of his eyes.

"Why ya here, then?" he demanded. "If ya don't wanna shag, the fuck ya here for? Wanna see just 'ow much I've 'umiliated meself in the last few years? Now ye've seen, you can go."

Turning his back deliberately, Eggsy stepped toward the door and reached out for the handle; the only thing that stopped him was a sharp, "Gary!" No one had called him by his given name since the Army. It was ingrained in him to stop, and his shoulders straightened without conscious thought on his part. He didn't turn around, though. The air in the room was thick, but not oppressive; still tense, though. His thoughts were so scattered. This was an outcome to the evening he could never have fathomed; he had absolutely no idea what he was doing, what he should be doing, in this instance. He didn't like it.

Harry's voice softened a bit as he continued, "I am here to offer my assistance. It was my understanding that you may not be a willing participant in this lifestyle; that you might want more."

Eggsy scoffed. "Who  _wants_ to be a rent boy?" Not him, that was for sure. He was doing it for his mum, and Daisy, so that she could stay out of the foster system. Someone had to make her a priority -- and his mum didn't have her head screwed on straight. Hadn't for a while. 

In a practical tone, Harry suggested, "Well, since I've paid for two hours of your time, let's go for a bite to eat and talk about it. I'm famished."

Eggsy was, as ever, mistrustful, and he let it show, turning around with a sneer. "I doubt you've paid Dean's going rate just to feed me." Even though the idea of a hot meal sounded wonderful, and his stomach protested Eggsy's reluctance with a quiet gurgle.

Harry shrugged. "I know a great fish and chips place that's cheap. And you look like you could use a good meal or ten." 

Fighting not to snarl, Eggsy squinted suspiciously. "No funny business, gramps. 'M stronger than I look." 

Smiling gently, Harry nodded. "Of course, Eggsy. No funny business."


	3. You want to see the future but you only see the sky.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some more boring talking. Some less boring stuff. An agreement is made -- under emotional duress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Richard Siken's poem ["Road Music"](http://yupnet.org/siken/2008/03/19/road-music/)
> 
> I really hate writing Eggsy's British accent slang. I'm so bad at it. If anyone has any critiques or suggestions for where to go to find more out about slang, please tell me. I'm desperate over here in American hell.
> 
> Also, pay attention to the new tags for this chapter.

The fish and chips place was considerably cleaner than any Eggsy had recently been into, but he supposed it would be too much for Harry Hart's idea of cheap to fit his. At least it didn't look one bad day away from being closed down by the health inspectors' department. That was a welcome improvement. The tabletops were chrome, throwing off distorted reflections of the room that made Eggsy jump any time someone walked by one. Harry had picked a table in a far corner, so it wasn't often, but Eggsy was understandably on edge, and he was having trouble sitting still until Harry reached out and laid one hand calmly over his.

"Calm down, Eggsy. I deliberately chose this place because no one your pimp associates with comes anywhere near here." 

Eggsy snarled, "'E's not me pimp. 'E's me jailor and debtor all in one." 

Harry looked confused for a moment, probably more over getting the truth than the fact that Eggsy wasn't precisely a willing employee. He'd already implied he knew how unhappy Eggsy was. The expression cleared, and he asked, "Then why in the world do you stay? Surely you've the skills needed to start a new life for yourself somewhere else?" Maybe Harry should have done more research into the boy's life before setting up this intervention -- of course, that was slightly more difficult said than done without using Kingsman resources, and Harry hadn't wanted this ending up on Lancelot's radar quite yet. Lancelot ... was a handful. And too cocky by half; he believed Eggsy's father had been foolish in jumping on that grenade, had been no better than his station. And Merlin, too. Elitist snobs, the lot of them, and Harry didn't want to have to deal with it just to find out some minute facts about Eggsy's life when he could ask the boy himself.

Eggsy looked offended, but had to pause his tirade as the server arrived with their food. Once she was gone, however, he gave a scathing response. "I'll not abandon me mum and sis to go larkin' 'bout the world. I've more respect than that." He took an emphatic bite of fish, scowling at how much better it tasted than anything he had eaten recently. Matter of fact, he couldn't actually remember the last time he'd had real food, and not just a pint at the pub or something similar. No wonder all his clothes were falling off him. Suddenly starving, Eggsy dug into the food, ignoring Harry's dignified use of a fork and napkin. When he was chewing his last bite, Harry was barely halfway done, and then Eggsy did feel mildly ashamed; swallowing thickly, he averted his eyes from the speculative gaze that hadn't left him throughout the meal and wiped his hands slowly on a napkin. He couldn't explain why Harry's expression made him feel small and dirty -- probably because Harry didn't actually look disgusted. He looked slightly sad, a bit angry, but mostly guilty.

No one had ever felt that sort of responsibility for Eggsy, and he didn't know how to respond to it, so, as always, he lashed out. "You ain't even told me why you come today, gov. It sure weren't for a piece of arse, I can tell tha' much." Not like Harry would have any trouble getting laid, walking round London looking like that. He was probably beating people off with his umbrella, Eggsy believed. 

Embarrassed with the direction his thoughts had taken, Eggsy hid his face in his tea cup, being careful not to slurp as he drained it -- he had  _some_ manners. Meanwhile, Harry put down his fork and slowly dabbed at his mouth with his handkerchief. "I came, Eggsy, because I happen to have a position open that I feel you might be quite suited to." Eggsy gave him a blank stare, and he elaborated, "A live-in personal valet. My last one, unfortunately, couldn't quite keep up with my lifestyle, and felt it best if he resigned."

"No feckin' way!" was Eggsy's immediate reaction. His first assumption was the logical one: Harry had wanted a willing and compliant partner available at all times, and the previous boy hadn't been able to live with it. Well, neither could Eggsy. "I ain't gonna be no kept boy locked up in your bedroom all day an' all night." Yeah, he might have to mess about with a bunch of different blokes out on the street, but at least he could escape between encounters. At least he could see Daisy every day; if he was locked up in some freak's bedroom, he'd never see her again, and she'd as good as be in the system.

"I think you're misunderstanding what the position entails," Harry said reasonably, not insulted at all by the insinuations Eggsy had made. "Your job responsibilities would be similar to that of my student. I see potential in you, and I won't waste it; I simply didn't think you would take an opportunity to learn a trade for free at face value."

Eggsy sneered. "I've already learnt one free trade. Trust me, gov, I ain't interested in another." Looking around, he waved the server down. "And I can pay for me own meals, too. I don' need charity." He really couldn't afford this place, not and buy food for both Daisy and him for the next few days, but his pride almost got the better of his common sense. 

Luckily, Harry cut in, ever the gentleman. "Nonsense. Consider this a business meeting that didn't quite have the desired outcome." Smiling, he slid a card across the table. Eggsy picked it up, fully intending to bin it once he got home and checked on Daisy. "If you change your mind for any reason, you can find me or one of my associates at this address."

Scoffing, Eggsy walked out of the place and headed home. He couldn't get Harry's offer out of his head -- and he couldn't help but notice that Harry Hart had never said exactly what it was he did for a living. Taking the card out of his pocket, Eggsy read,  _'Kingsman Tailors'_ and frowned. How in the world would his father have saved this toff's life in any way? Refrained from stabbing him in the eye with a pin, maybe?  _Wotever,_ he grunted at himself.  _You ain't leavin' Daisy no how, so it's a moot point._ And it really was. Eggsy was loyal. He wouldn't abandon his family; everything he had done in his life had been intended to help them, and he couldn't just selfishly waltz off to a new life and leave her and his mum behind.

Eventually, he made it to the crappy little flat he shared with his mum; it hadn't taken long, or hadn't seemed like it did. He'd been caught up in his thoughts. Pausing at the bottom of the staircase to steel himself for his mother, Eggsy heard a hungry wail -- a wail he recognized, and dread clenched his heart. He'd given his mum money to buy Daisy food this morning; there was no reason she ought to be hungry. Unless ...

 _God, no!_ was Eggsy's terrified plea as he leapt up the stairs three at a time. Instead of fumbling with his key ring, he shouldered the flimsy door with barely any effort, and came to a complete standstill there in the doorway.  _Analyse the scene,_ said the cool, rational part of his mind left over from his Army days.

Daisy, in her crib, crying. He longed to scoop her up in his arms, but he couldn't yet.

Pot of water on the stove -- that would be the burning he smelled. The water had long since boiled away, he discovered when he looked at the bottom of the pot. There had never been anything else in it. He flicked the burner off automatically.

Slowly, Eggsy turned toward the couch, dread pooling in his bones. Daisy had stopped crying when she'd seen him, but now her quiet snuffling sobs added a background to the scene in front of him, and it felt as though all of his bones had turned to stone.

Lying on the couch, hair limp and greasy across her face, needle dangling from her fingertips, was his mother. Biting his lower lip in a staunch effort not to cry, Eggsy slowly forced himself to march forward, to gently move her hair out of her face, to press two shaking fingertips against her throat.

No pulse. Skin cold, fingers locked around the needle.  _Rigor mortis, at least 3 hours dead,_ his mind treacherously whispered.  _No good doing CPR._ But he couldn't stop himself; he gently dragged her body flat onto the floor, and began pressing at her chest. After a while, he came to realize he was crying, giant tears dripping down his cheeks and heart-wrenching wails escaping from deep in his soul.  _"Mum!"_ he screamed, mindless of the neighbours.  _"Mum, wake up!"_

But she wouldn't, and eventually he sagged back in defeat, still crying like a child. Like Daisy. _Fuck, Daisy!_ Once again, his attention shifted to the crib where his little sis stood, holding onto the rail, face scrunched up as she cried for someone to feed her. She wouldn't understand what had just happened. She wouldn't know that her mother had chosen to overdose rather than stay here in the world and take care of her.

Still wiping tears away, Eggsy put together a quick bottle, knowing Daisy was too old but also needing an easy meal that would distract her while he packed. He didn't know where they were going, but it was the middle of summer and unlikely they would freeze on the streets. While he was putting together all of her clothes in a duffle bag the Army had issued him, Eggsy stopped, dead still, and pulled out the card that fop had given him. 

 _'_ _Kingsman Tailors'_

What could it hurt? The man was rich, and whatever he chose to pay Eggsy would go straight towards taking care of his sister. He could put up with a lot of shit for his sis, as evidenced by the last four years of his life -- perhaps he had originally justified it as being for his mum, but she hadn't really been his mum since the first time she picked up a pipe instead of him. He'd done it for Daisy, so that  _she_ would have a mum of sorts, and not a string of group homes.  _And look 'ow well that worked out, eh?_ sneered his inner monologue.

"Shut up," he whispered harshly, talking to no one but himself. Packing done for the both of them, he returned to Daisy's crib. He would have to leave that here. Once they were off, he would call the coppers, have them come discover the body. By then, he'd be long gone and no one would find him, or so he hoped.

He picked Daisy up and settled her on his hip, hand coming up to brace both her bottom and the strap of the duffle bag. In the other hand, he held his phone; he'd spend the cash on a cab, because there was no way he was walking to Saville Row at this time of night with a small child.

When the cab pulled up, he gave them the address on the business card. Twenty minutes later, he was staring up at fancy glass doors that looked as though they'd never been smudged by a handprint, trying to muster up the courage to ring the bell. Daisy, snuffling quietly in her sleep, finally pushed him over the edge, and he jabbed his thumb into the bell before he could change his mind.

Around the time he had decided no one was coming, a light flipped on in the lobby, and Harry came out wrapped in a dressing gown, glass of Scotch in his hand.  _He must have been upstairs,_ came Eggsy's inane thought. He was numb; he couldn't process what was going on anymore. He needed someone else to tell him what to do, to give him the orders.

"Eggsy?" came the politely confused voice. Eggsy doubted Harry was as stupid as all that, but he couldn't make himself care. "Well, that was a quick change of heart. Is that -- is that your baby sister? What on earth --?"

"Me mum overdosed," he stated bluntly. "I'll take the job, so long as you 'elp me keep Daisy out the system."

To Harry's credit, he only looked shocked for a moment. "Of course. Eggsy, you're shaking. Come in."

Yeah, well. Finding your mum's dead body would do that to a person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The eye stretches to the horizon and then must continue up.  
> Anything past the horizon  
> is invisible, it can only be imagined. You want to see the future but  
> you only see the sky. Fluffy clouds.  
> Look—white fluffy clouds.  
> Looking back is easy for a while and then looking back gets  
> murky. There is the road, and there is the story of where the road goes,  
> and then more road,  
> the roar of the freeway, the roar of the city sheening across the city.  
> There should be a place.  
> At the rest stop, in the restaurant, the overpass, the water's edge . . .
> 
>  
> 
> 2  
> He was not dead yet, not exactly—  
> parts of him were dead already, certainly other parts were still only waiting  
> for something to happen, something grand, but it isn't  
> always about me,  
> he keeps saying, though he's talking about the only heart he knows—
> 
> He could build a city. Has a certain capacity. There's a niche in his chest  
> where a heart would fit perfectly  
> and he thinks if he could just maneuver one into place—  
> well then, game over.
> 
>  
> 
> 3  
> You wonder what he's thinking when he shivers like that.  
> What can you tell me, what could you possibly  
> tell me? Sure, it's good to feel things, and if it hurts, we're doing it  
> to ourselves, or so the saying goes, but there should be  
> a different music here. There should be just one safe place  
> in the world, I mean  
> this world. People get hurt here. People fall down and stay down and I don't like  
> the way the song goes.  
> You, the moon. You, the road. You, the little flowers  
> by the side of the road. You keep singing along to that song I hate. Stop singing.


End file.
